


Brightly Shone the Moon That Night

by spirithorse



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sormik Advent Calendar 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirithorse/pseuds/spirithorse
Summary: Something moved on the horse, Mikleo watching as another shadow dropped down, dashing his first plan. But it was a person, so he was saved.Mikleo reached up for them, halfway expecting for his hand to fall through them. Everyone knew that strange things roamed the night, ghosts, hellions, and all sorts of things that should best be avoided. But his hand encountered the softness of a leather glove and a solid hand.
Relationships: Mikleo/Sorey (Tales of Zestiria)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Sormik Advent Calendar 2020





	Brightly Shone the Moon That Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pengie (pengiesama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/gifts).



> I got Pengie for this year’s Sormik Advent Calendar: Secret Santa Edition. She wanted something for the prompt The Wild Hunt. I’m not really using any specific tradition of the Wild Hunt for this (because there are many) but I’m kind of just, smooshing them all together and then throwing in some Tales of Zestiria spice. Title from Good King Wenceslas.

Mikleo floundered through the snow, hissing at the cold as he sunk waist deep into a drift. He had to pull his hands out from underneath his cloak to scramble out, not sure if he should be worried by the fact that he could barely feel what he was doing or if he should be grateful. At least his fingers had stopped burning with the cold and had settled into a comforting numbness. Really, they were almost warm at this point. As soon as he got out of the snowbank, he would press them to his cheeks in a vain attempt to warm them. It had to be worth it, because everything else had gone numb.

He rose slightly out of the snow, having to kick hard to free his legs. Mikleo managed to get himself out of the drift, only to tumble to the ground on the other side, exhausted. He panted for breath, curling up as tight as he could manage. Distantly, he was aware that he should be shivering, but he couldn’t. He was too tired, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Mikleo gritted his teeth, going as far to plant one hand underneath him to stand and then…

He wasn’t sure if he managed to sleep for a moment, or his concentration was so much on trying to lever his exhausted body out of the snow that he failed to pay attention to what was going on around him, because the next thing he knew he heard the sound of baying and hoofbeats. He shook his head, like that would clear his ears, because it didn’t make sense.

He was well away from the lord’s manor, and nowhere near the forest that he preferred. Besides, the weather was all wrong, and it was the dead of night. There shouldn’t have been anyone riding out, unless…

Mikleo twisted around, surprised by how much effort it took. The motion left him sinking back into the snow, his heart pounding as he saw the dark shapes of wolves running past. They were fixed on something, Mikleo shaking at the sounds of their barking and the red flash of their eyes in the night.

They streamed past, seemingly unaware of him. Mikleo still held himself tense, only letting out his breath when he could no longer see their eyes. But, once the fear left him, the cold came back.

He gasped, curled in on himself again. He had to keep going, home couldn’t be far now, except that he was so tired. Maybe just a short nap before going on, just until it got lighter and he could see instead of plunging endlessly into snowbanks until he was too exhausted to go on.

The temptation was great enough for him to forget what he had seen until he heard the crunch of a horse through the snow.

Mikleo lifted his head, staring in incomprehension at the dark shape of the horse that loomed above him. He watched the steam of its breath curl away from it, Mikleo surprising himself by trying to get up. But the horse would be warm, and he could sink his hands into its mane. Maybe, it was as lost as he was, but a horse would know its way home.

Something moved on the horse, Mikleo watching as another shadow dropped down, dashing his first plan. But it was a person, so he was saved.

Mikleo reached up for them, halfway expecting for his hand to fall through them. Everyone knew that strange things roamed the night, ghosts, hellions, and all sorts of things that should best be avoided. But his hand encountered the softness of a leather glove and a solid hand. He swallowed, intending to stay something, to plead for help, but the person was already moving.

They stepped closer, looking at them from underneath the hood of their cloak. It was too dark for Mikleo to make out their face, but it didn’t seem to matter. The person’s actions spoke louder than any words or expression. They crouched down, carefully sliding their arms around Mikleo before lifting him. It shouldn’t have been that easy, the year had been a good one and their lord was a fair one. There was no starving this year, a relief for many. But the person lifted him as easily as if he had been wasting away on a bad year. He should have felt annoyed, but the person was warm and he couldn’t help but lean in.

He thought he heard the person chuckle, a deep sound that vibrated through him. Then, he was being lifted onto the horse, the person quick to mount up behind him.

Mikleo tipped his head back, trying to catch a glimpse of his savior, but he was prevented from that when the person wrapped him in their cloak, turning his world dark again.

Mikleo blinked in surprise, but he couldn’t hold onto the generosity for too long, not when the warmth was drawing him in, tempting him to finally close his eyes and sleep.

* * *

Sorey paused in his careful brushing of snow, aware of the presence by his shoulder. He started to turn his head, hearing a familiar snort before he saw the man bundled up beside him.

“I thought I would find you here.”

“You were looking?”

Mikleo rolled his shoulders, the motion hiding the way that he was jamming his hands deeper into his pockets, looking like he was bracing himself against the chill of the early evening. Knowing Mikleo, he would stand there until Sorey was ready to go, cold and miserable, and Sorey couldn’t let that happen.

He stood off, pausing a moment to brush the snow off of his knees before reaching for his scarf. He unwound it from around his neck, wrapping it around Mikleo’s.

Mikleo stood still and let him, but not without a long, pointed look in his direction. Sorey stood under it, far too used to it to start to blush or stammer out what he wanted to say. Besides, Mikleo was reaching up to touch just above where Sorey was holding the ends, already tucking his nose into the wool.

Sorey held the ends of the scarf for a moment longer before dropping them away. “You looked cold.”

Mikleo raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze for a moment longer before shaking his head. “So what, now you’ll be cold too?”

“Well…”

“Exactly.” Mikleo tucked his nose back into the scarf, like that proved his point. For all Sorey knew, it might just, although it made him want to tug Mikleo close and hold him tight. But that was a common enough impulse.

He reached out just beginning to curl his hand around Mikleo’s waist when the sound of his name caught his attention, Sorey jerking his hand back.

“Sorey!”

“Oh no.” Mikleo groaned, Sorey seeing him play with the scarf out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, it looked like he would take it off, but Mikleo seemed to catch himself at the last minute to look over at Sorey. “Can I…”

Sorey shook his head, turning slightly so he was standing in front of Mikleo, not that it mattered. Mikleo still stepped forward, resting a hand between his shoulder blades that did nothing but tempt him. Sorey wanted to melt back into the touch, but he stopped himself from going too far in favor of smiling at the man bustling over to them. “Shepherd Malfore.”

It was an effort to remember to make shepherd sound like a title and less like a word, it was something that he had always struggled with over the years, and more so with Malfore. It was enough to make him feel a flash of regret, because the man didn’t deserve it, or so he believed. Mikleo and the others might have a different opinion.

He felt Mikleo’s free hand slide to rest on his waist, Sorey quick to cover it with his own. It was as steadying as the hand between his shoulders, and he was grateful for it.

Shepherd Malfore obviously didn’t notice, he was too busy glancing around at the graveyard and nodding. “Well done. I expected this to take a bit longer. The last warder we had was…” Malfore paused, a frown crossing his face, “less than punctual about his duties.”

Sorey gave the graveyard a quick look, most of the headstones lost under the heavy fall of snow and his own shoveling. Only the larger mausoleums were distinct. If he looked behind him, he knew that he would see some cleared, along with the trail of his footsteps, but digging out the paths had taken much of the limited afternoon that had been left to him after various repairs and deliveries that had been happening all morning.

Still, Malfore didn’t seem to care about that point, and the graveyard didn’t look untidy, which was probably the bigger issue for the Shepherd.

Sorey ducked his head in a short nod. “Thank you.”

Malfore reached out like he was going to clasp Sorey’s shoulder, but he seemed to remember his dignity. He hummed to himself, tucking the hand behind his back and pulling his shoulders back. Mikleo huffed, the sound something like a barely muffled laugh. Sorey wanted to turn and shake his head, but to do so would probably insult Malfore.

The Shepherd looked him up and down before glancing over at the grave that Sorey had been standing by. He tensed as he stared at the worn words carved into the stone, the corner of his mouth twitching. The reaction only lasted a moment, and then Malfore was back to the amiable, albeit distant, expression that he normally had. “Ah, so you’ve found our poor abandoned soul.”

Mikleo sucked in a quick breath, Sorey feeling him bristle. He was sure that Malfore felt it too because of the way that the Shepherd shivered, pulling his woolen coat closer around him.

In his moment of distraction, Sorey patted Mikleo’s hand, leaning back into him. It was not enough, he knew that, but it was the best that he could offer at the moment. Anything more would have to wait until Malfore had left.

Sorey glanced over at the wrought iron fence that blocked off the graveyard from one side of the street, a late addition to the medieval wall that set the boundary on the other three sides. It stood out from the old church badly, but it meant that he could see the passage of time more easily without having to fumble for his pocket watch. Given the time of year, it was probably badly out of sync. But it with the iron fence was easy enough to see that the sun was sinking, drawing the short winter afternoon to a close.

Sorey shivered, but not from the cold.

He stared at the colors that were thrown over the clouds, only belatedly realizing that he should speak or else Malfore would get suspicious and start asking questions. Sorey wasn’t sure he had the capacity or the time for that.

He shook his head, offering an apologetic smile. “Yes. Most of the graves here are old and don’t get many visitors.”

“No.” Malfore stepped off the path, lifting his legs high and awkwardly to make his way over to the grave. The snow came up to his knees, probably soaking his pants. The Shepherd was clearly not dressed for being outside, but he had obviously warmed to one of his favorite topics, the history of his parish, one of the oldest and most illustrious in Glenwood. “Some of the families have thrived and remained, but this one, this one suffered so after this.”

Malfore reached down to touch the grave, running his fingers over the half-eroded name. As soon as his fingers started over the letters, Mikleo growled low, the sound sending a shiver up Sorey’s spine.

This time, he didn’t resist the urge to turn his head and fix Mikleo with a look. It wasn’t censure, he didn’t have that in him. It was a warning of another kind, but Mikleo didn’t notice. He was holding tight onto Sorey, leaning towards Malfore as the growl rumbled low in his chest.

He reached down to squeeze Mikleo’s hand, whispering his name in a warning. It still took a while for Mikleo to respond, only coming back to himself as Malfore stood up and stepped away from the grave.

“Mikleo, yes, that was his name.” The Shepherd stepped clear of the snow, looking down at his soaked pants in disgust. He shook his legs out, reaching down to pat the last bits of snow clinging to him. He shook his head like the snow was a curse specifically to annoy him alone before straightening up. “The poor lad. He was found frozen in the forest and it broke his family. They say his uncle went mad with grief and his mother never rose from her bed.”

Sorey squeezed the hand on his hip harder, trying to steady Mikleo even as he shrunk down. He wanted Malfore to leave, just so he could attend the more important matters, but the Shepherd was determined to talk, and the sun hadn’t set quite yet. For a while longer, he was still Sorey the warder.

“He deserves to be remembered.”

“Of course, they all do.” Malfore recited the words like they were rote, gesturing wide at the graveyard. “These were all people once. And those in this section are to be more revered, they were the foundation of this town. They were the hard-working people that built this nation. People come from miles to see these examples of perfect Pax Melidas headstones.”

Sorey glanced over at the decoration on the headstone, the vines that tangled around it and were topped with the symbol of Amenoch for protection of the soul. “It’s more Era of Asgard.”

“Really?” Malfore stepped to the edge of the path before leaning over, squinting at the stone. “The others might be, but we’ve had the top academics come out to date these headstones and they are sure of it.”

Sorey winced, glad that Malfore missed it. He managed to get his expression under control by the time that Malfore turned back around.

The Shepherd looked him up and down before humming. “It’s rare that someone with your background would know that. Where were you educated?”

“I wasn’t. I’ve lived in this village all of my life.” The lie sat heavy on his tongue, nearly tripping him up for a moment before Sorey managed to correct himself. “But I like to read.”

“Indeed.” Malfore studied him for a long moment before dismissing it as he did most things, with a wave of his hand. “Well, don’t forget to lock up when you are finished. I don’t want anyone sneaking in here with nefarious purposes while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Shepherd.” Sorey worked hard to get the title out right, pausing to recenter himself before continuing. “When will you be back?”

“Oh, late tonight? Lord de Hautdesert is well known for his generosity at the table for any event.”

“Late?” Sorey glanced over at the sunset, even though he didn’t need to. He knew, down to the depths of his being, that the sun would soon set and the wind would howl through the trees. He shuddered, feeling Mikleo clutch at him more tightly. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Wise?” Malfore tipped his head to the side like Sorey was speaking the ancient tongue. Whatever he intended to follow with was cut off by a wolf’s long and lonely howl.

The two of them started, Mikleo moving with Sorey although his full attention was on the gate off to the side. Sorey was tempted to follow his gaze, but he wanted to hold onto this conversation for a little longer. Other things could stand to wait.

After all, the sun was still in the sky.

Barely.

Malfore shifted nervously, plucking at the front of his coat before his shook his head. “Country customs and nonsense, I assure you. There are no hellions roaming the night, waiting to infect people with malevolence. Those are just wolves, and they should be moving out once they realize that there’s nothing here for them. As for the rest, it’s old beliefs from when people pray to other Great Lords, before they turned to the truth. They’re fun to talk about around the safety of a fire on an evening, but they’re nothing more than that. The cold will kill, not some unknown devils. And against the cold, I will take measures.”

Sorey took a deep breath, but Malfore was already walking off. The Shepherd made his way back to the church, letting himself in via the back door. It swung shut behind him, Sorey letting out the breath he didn’t need at the slam of it.

The sound was enough to coax Mikleo out from where he had been pressed against Sorey’s back. He stared at the church for a moment before bending down to scoop up a handful of snow. He packed it into a ball, hefting it to his shoulder for a moment before he sighed and let it fall. “Pompous.”

“He tries.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes, turning to look at him. “You’re too sweet.”

“Not at all like you expected?”

That got Mikleo to mellow, Sorey reaching out to reel him back in. Mikleo went willingly, nuzzling into his chest and the coat there. Sorey wrapped his arms around him, keeping him warm and close as he stared out over the graveyard.

It was peaceful here, a counterpoint to the pounding of something within him. It happened every year, a reminder that what he was now was a thin veneer over what he really was, but it always took him by surprise.

Sorey rubbed at his arm, freezing at the next howl of the wolf, this time two others rising with it. Soon, it sounded like a whole pack howling outside of the town. It would be enough to send the people scurrying into their homes. It might have been thousands of years and they might now say that they were above such things, but there was always some part of them that believed that there was something more than lurked in the dark than they could fully comprehend. Sorey found that the people in the far-flung villages understood it best.

Then again, the cities had their own things lurking, things like him, things as old as him or things that the humans had dreamed up.

Sorey tore his gaze away from the jut of an old wall that he was staring at as the wolves howled again, this time catching a bit of a horn underneath. Even if he hadn’t heard it, it would have echoed through him. It was the core of him, his reason for being even if he couldn’t hear what they were chasing. Sorey was sure that they were there, just out of sight but coming free as the shadows lengthened.

He was jerked out of his thoughts as Mikleo shivered, although he was sure that it wasn’t from cold. Mikleo hadn’t felt the cold for thousands of years, at least not enough to bother him. That didn’t stop him from putting an arm around Mikleo and drawing him close like he had when he had first stumbled across a frozen boy in the woods.

Mikleo leaned into him, but Sorey doubted he really realized what he was doing. If anything, he was trying to get away from the wolves that were bound to be circling closer now that only a silver of sun left in the sky.

He dropped his arm down to Mikleo’s waist, tugging him that much closer as he saw something shadowy and barely there stalking along the fence at the front of the graveyard. The shadows twisted into something that might have been a huge dog before shifting into something more human.

Sorey clutched at Mikleo more tightly, meeting the shadow’s gaze. He couldn’t be sure if the shadow was meeting his gaze, but that didn’t matter. Dezel knew exactly where he was, and he was waiting. They all were, he could feel them gathering just outside of the walls. The hellions were indistinct compared to them, but that would even out as soon as he left the bounds of the city.

Sorey gave the graveyard one last sweep, already detached from it and that tasks that he would have to do. That was for the morning, when the wind didn’t howl in time with his pack and the moon didn’t call him onward.

The rest of the year was for Sorey the human, but as soon as the night grew long and cold, it was time for the Shepherd.

He let go of Mikleo, stepping around him to walk down the path to the iron door that had been installed in awkwardly in the old medieval wall.

Between one step and another, a horse melted out of the shadows, its mane falling to its knees. It loomed just on the other side of the bars, pawing at the ground with one leg, the feathers drifting like they were more shadow than substance.

Sorey clucked, watching the horse toss its head before it trotted through the gate, its hooves falling silently on the stone paths of the graveyard.

He held out his hand to catch the reins, the light touch enough to bring the horse to a stop. The horse still fretted, chomping noisily at the bit as it twitched in place. And yet, its black coat remained dry.

Sorey slid his hand under the horse’s mane, patting its neck before swinging up into the saddle. He felt the weight of his clothes shift as he settled, Sorey reaching back to readjust the long cloak so he wasn’t sitting on it and it swept over the horse’s flanks.

The horse shifted restlessly under him, Sorey shushing it gently. It was just picking up what he was feeling, what the wolves were feeling. Sorey leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck, feeling it quiver, but it stood under the gentle tension in the reins. But it wouldn’t take much for the horse to lunge away. Despite the centuries, it was still excited for the hunt.

There was a wail from back in the forest, Sorey twisting in the saddle to frown at it. That wasn’t one of his, which meant that the hellions were closer than he had thought. His hand dropped to his sword, Sorey feeling a flash of possessiveness. This was his town, the place he went as soon as the hunt was over. His hand closed around the hilt, holding there until he felt a hand on his leg.

Mikleo was staring up at him, holding himself tense like the horse.

Sorey sighed and reached down to run his hand through Mikleo’s hair. He gentled immediately, the intense and distant look on his face disappearing. It was like seeing him come back to life, which made Sorey wince.

There had been no reason to stop by the frozen human he had seen all those years ago. His purpose was to chase down the hellions and those humans that were twisting into them. Human souls were another matter entirely. There were times that human souls were swept up in the hunt, but Mikleo’s was the first he had stopped to pick up, just on a whim.

He smoothed his hand down to Mikleo’s temple, rubbing gentle circles there. Mikleo leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. It wasn’t complete relaxation, but it was the best that he would get at this time of year. They were all a bit _more_ until they were hunting, lingering on the edge of the world as humans saw it.

Mikleo nuzzled into his hand, his own hand sliding up Sorey’s leg. Sorey was tempted to just let him continue, but the hellions were shrieking in the forest, and any other thoughts were blown away. Duty called.

He lifted his hand away from Mikleo’s cheek, offering it to stabilize him as Mikleo jumped up to use his foot to swing himself into the saddle.

The horse didn’t wait for Mikleo to settle, the sound of the hellions was enough to have it turning away. Mikleo fell back against him, Sorey securing him with one arm around his waist as his other hand fumbled with the reins. It wasn’t like the horse needed guiding yet, it would go unerringly to where the others were gathering. His time was better spent making sure that Mikleo was secure in saddle, tucked up against him.

He slid his free arm around Mikleo’s waist, feeling him shiver. Sorey wasn’t sure if it was because of the nightfall or something else, not even when Mikleo tipped his head back to look at him. Sorey took the time to press his face into Mikleo’s hair, taking a deep breath that he technically didn’t need. It was stabilizing all the same, centering.

This was to be the first of many long nights, and he couldn’t help the thrill of excitement, even after hundreds of thousands of years.

Sorey gathered up the reins in his hand as the horse stepped through the iron gate again, shivering at the touch of it. It was uncomfortable, but not deadly as the stories would have it. Sorey assumed that he was too old for that, older than most of the things that humans spoke about at any other time. But not during this time, not when the nights were long and cold, and they spoke in whispers about what lurked in the dark.

The horse moved into an easy canter, not seeming to mind or even notice the deep snow. Sorey rocked with the motion, alternately looking out at the dark forest around them and down at where Mikleo was leaning back against him. Mikleo was shaking now, Sorey sure that it was excitement. Somewhere in the distance, Dezel’s horn was still sounding, calling the wolves and the hunters to their posts, and warning the hellions and humans of what was coming.

Sorey rubbed small circles against Mikleo’s hip with his thumb, not sure that he could feel it through the layers that he was wearing. Mikleo must have felt the motion of his arm, because he relaxed slightly. “Dezel is making an effort tonight.”

“He says tonight is the hardest, everyone is scattered.” Sorey jerked his chin off to the left, sure that Mikleo didn’t see the motion. “They’re gathering over there.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sorey pressed a kiss to the top of Mikleo’s head. “He probably likes it better too; he doesn’t have to mingle as much.”

“How long until Rose stops that?”

Sorey shrugged, his gaze drawn to movement to his left. He thought he saw the shine of the moon off of fangs and the flash of red eyes. The group of darker shadows paused for a moment, dipping their heads before loping off, tongues lolling. Sorey still tugged Mikleo closer, relieved that the hadn’t noticed the wolves straying so close. Mikleo seemed to be focused on the circle of light that had formed in a clearing. Shadows clung to the edges of it, forming and reforming themselves. Some of them hung onto a single form, and they were the ones gathered closer to the light and the woman in the red and white cloak that was walking around the clearing with a jug and a cup, offering the latter up to anything that reached out.

She paused in the act of holding the cup out to a woman dressed in old hunting leathers. The two held their tableau for a moment before the woman in the cloak turned and bowed. “My lord.”

Sorey waved at her, turning it for a motion for her to go on. The woman turned back to offer the cup again, Sorey catching the scent of mulled wine before the woman in hunting leathers started to drink.

He turned his attention to the rest of the ground, nodding at the ones who looked more human than shadows. There were always a few that had given up on any shape, the ones that slipped along alongside the horses. They were already starting to slip away, probably to dance attendance on Dezel and the wolves while they waited. The niceties and traditions of the ones who preferred to remain human didn’t hold the same appeal to them. They lived only for the hunt, were only barely gentled by it. It was a directed kind of bloodlust, before they were dispersed to terrorize the night or chained back to where they had been prior.

Sorey scanned over them, meeting the circle of glowing eyes with a slow nod. On their part, they slowly lowered themselves into a bow as he rode past. They straightened up once he was past, but Sorey didn’t feel their gaze on him anymore. They were likely to stay that way, especially now that he was there. He could already feel the tug at the center of his own being, something slotting into place as more of the gathered hunters made their bows before scurrying over to where their horses were tethered to the trees.

Lailah was the only one that remained in the center of the clearing. Her face was hidden in the hood of her cloak for a moment before she looked up at the two of them, a smile on her face. “Lord Shepherd, Lord Mikleo, it’s a pleasure to see the two of you again.”

“And you, Lailah.” Sorey leaned over to take the cup that was offered, passing it forward to Mikleo.

Mikleo curled over it, pressing the warm metal against his hands. Sorey was momentarily distracted how the pallor left Mikleo’s face for a moment, making him look more alive. It would fade, which was a shame. This time took much of their pretend humanity from them.

Sorey rested his cheek on the top of Mikleo’s head for a moment before looking back at Lailah. She had a fond smile on her face, her own arms wrapped around the jug of mulled wine. Her gaze lingered on the two of them, before she tipped her head back, letting the hood of her cloak fall away. “We have a fair night tonight.”

The horse snorted, Sorey feeling like it was going to sidle, but he was quick to calm it. The tension was rising, he could feel it, but they were all waiting for him.

He felt Mikleo tip his head back, drinking down his offering of mulled wine before passing the cup back to Lailah. The woman was quick to refill it, staring into the cup before holding it out to Sorey again.

That motion brought the whole clearing to silence. Sorey could feel all eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do. It was almost laughable considering how many times they had done this. And not once had he refused.

Sorey nodded and took the cup, tossing the mulled wine back. He barely tasted it as it was, he never did. His mind was flying away to the hellions that he could still hear wailing and roaring in the night and the wolves that were starting to howl in response to Dezel’s horn. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, excitement flooding through him.

He tightened his hand on the reins, the horse finally giving up on standing still and tossing its head. Sorey swayed easily with the horse, glancing down briefly at Mikleo.

He needn’t have worried, because Mikleo sat comfortable on the horse, tucked up against him but focused on the path that was being cleared for them.

Sorey stared out into the dark, seeing flickers of movement. Beneath him, the horse tensed, Sorey feeling the tremble of its muscles. He curled his fingers around the stem of the wine cup before twisting to hand it back to Lailah.

She bowed again before hurrying over to where Edna was holding her own horse. Lailah shook the cup out, splattering wine in a wide arc, red on white snow. The jug was corked and tucked away in her saddlebag, and then she was mounted, the last to do so.

As one, they turned towards him, even the shadowy creatures. Some of the latter flickered into the shapes of men and horses, some a bit of both. Sorey met their glowing eyes, taking a moment to pull Mikleo closer to him, tucking him under the front of his cloak like he had those many of thousands of years ago. He thought he heard Mikleo huff, but the protest was only token because he could feel Mikleo tugging at the cloak until he was more completely covered, the black edges dark against his pale skin. It made Sorey want to reach out and stroke life back into Mikleo’s cheek, but he was sure he would be shrugged off, not meanly, but there was something more important. Sorey could feel it thrumming through him as well, magnified by the rest of his host around him.

Dezel melted out of the shadows, reaching back with one hand to hold the wolves at bay. Sorey doubted that Mikleo would have noticed, at least at first, but he appreciated Dezel’s control. There were traditions to the hunt, but Sorey would buck them all if Mikleo felt uncomfortable.

After all, he had been the one to set the traditions. The people might have formed his role, and how he would behave at first, but he’d had plenty of years to grow his own power.

Sorey reluctantly uncurled his arm from around Mikleo’s waist, pulling it free from the protective warmth of his cloak to gesture ahead. “Sound the horn.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Dezel was trumpeting the call to ride. The sound was almost drowned out by the shouts and roars of the rest of the hunt, Sorey seeing some of the more human shaped riders throwing their hands into the air. But they all remained in place.

The horse didn’t need him to urge it forward. It threw its head back with a ringing neigh that declined into something that was more of a shriek.

Sorey slipped his arm back around Mikleo’s waist, leaning forward both to brace him and in his own excitement. Mikleo didn’t react to either, all Sorey could feel from him was the slight shake of his body under the cloak, which had nothing to do with the cold. Or maybe it was him that was shaking, Sorey couldn’t tell, and he didn’t have the time to think about it.

There was an order and tradition to things, but that was all gone as soon as the horn was blown. The wolves and Dezel’s horse were allowed to go first, just barely, before the rest of them were riding as fast as they could after the wailing hellions.

Sorey could still hear them in the distance, but it was hard over the shrieks of the other riders, the howling of the wolves, and the pounding of the horses’ hooves as they galloped. The latter rattled down into the very core of him, perhaps the start of what he had been all of those years ago. It reverberated through him, maybe even to the point where it was like a heartbeat, or at least what Mikleo had told him having a heartbeat was like. It was a thundering, all-consuming thing, just like the hunt.

He scanned the horizon, seeing the flash of red from where the wolves were ranging ahead. The others hadn’t lit their torches, but there was no need yet, they hadn’t spread out to chase after the hellions that split off just yet. It was just them, and the pounding of hooves echoing through the night.

* * *

Malfore tucked his blanket more tightly around his legs, shivering in the cold. He clicked his tongue, trying to urge his horse faster but it insisted in floundering through the snow. He huffed and rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the road, or where he assumed it was. It was hard to tell underneath all the snow. It was almost enough to make him want to turn around.

Bertilak de Hautdesert was well known for his hospitality, and both he and his wife and offered him a place to stay. But Malfore was not about to be found absent from his parish, not with all of the political maneuvering going on. There were plenty of people who were eyeing his position, and he intended to keep it.

No one was more deserving, and no one could keep his flock in line, no matter what anyone back in Pendrago said.

He braced his shoulders, staring ahead through the night. The lanterns on the side of his buggy cast a small circle of yellow light and the moon was helpful, but it was unnerving to see the rest of the forest slide away into darkness. It sent a shiver down his spine, Malfore reaching up for the amulet of Maotelus. It was sure protection against anything that was out there, and more than enough to boost his confidence. Or at least it had been when he had been standing in the foyer.

It was different now, in the dark, with only him and his horse.

Malfore took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to lower his hand back to the reins. This was all because of that warder and his old-fashioned stories. In the olden days, it would have made sense to see evil in the shadows and beyond the bounds of their small circles of light. After all, he had done the same. Except he had the faith and good sense to stop himself from going too far.

He cleared his throat, purposefully straightening up his shoulders. He would be fine. Bertilak de Hautdesert’s estate was not too far from his village, nothing more than another half an hour on the road, or maybe more like an hour at this pace. Then he would be inside strong walls and familiar faces.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, Malfore looking at the full moon again. As long as the moon was clear, he was safe to continue his drive. And, judging from the sky, it would remain clear until he was safe.

Malfore shook his head to push the thought away. Of course he was safe. This whole area was, he and the local landowners made sure that it was. It was why he couldn’t be removed from his post; he was making progress here. At least he would have support, for what little that was worth when it came to the politics of the church.

Things were changing in Pendrago, and probably not for the better. But those were not the best thoughts to be having while driving through the snow. This could be a moment to take in the peace, or to work on his next sermon. It did need the work, and he only had a week to go.

He shook out the reins, clucking to the horse again to try and get it to start moving faster. The horse just snorted, but kept plodding along. Malfore frowned and leaned over to glance at the snow, trying to determine where the road was. He assumed that he was on it, because the buggy wasn’t bouncing too badly. That or the snow was enough of a cushion, or he was right to have diverted funds for a better buggy. This was a country parish after all, he was often on the move bring succor to those who need it.

Perhaps not at night again, or in the winter. Both were bothersome, especially when he could be back at home with a blazing fire to keep him warm.

He shot an annoyed look forward at his horse, slapping the reins across its rump. The horse struggled a bit before pushing onward, its pace still slow. Malfore hissed out a curse and slumped back, glaring at it. He didn’t want to be out in the cold a minute longer than he had to, and certainly not in the dark.

Malfore turned his head to smother a yawn against his shoulder, staring off into the dark forest. His parishioners were right in this one thing, that the forest was creepy, some old and ancient fear making its way down his spine.

He stared at the forest for a moment more before shaking his head. That’s what came from spending an evening that had him full and relaxed. Normally, he would keep those thoughts far away.

He was in the midst of reaching up for his medallion again when the horse threw up its head as it came to a halt. Malfore frowned, leaning forward to urge the horse on when he heard what had gotten the horse’s attention, the howl of a wolf. Others answered, more and more until Malfore could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Malfore played with the reins, tightening them and letting them loose. Thankfully, the horse was too occupied with listening and shaking to run. Although, he almost wished that it would, because the wolves were getting closer. The wolves and whatever else was making that awful wailing.

He froze at the sight of something running through the wood beside him. The horse must have seen it too because it snorted. Malfore’s first thought was to reach forward to jerk it to a stop, or to silence, because whatever that was shouldn’t be alerted to their presence. Malfore didn’t know how he knew, but it was enough to send a chill down his spine.

He fumbled for his diamond amulet with one hand, leaving the other on the reins. He didn’t dare urge the horse into motion, not when more of the strange shadows flitted through the woods. Malfore tried to count them, but his mind kept getting stuck on three, insisting that it was too much, too many and he had to be still. Be still and run as soon as he could.

Hot on the heels of the shadows were the wolves, Malfore whimpering at the sight of their red eyes in the night. It was barely less frightening than the wailing shadows that had come before. He could hold himself still, but the sight of the wolves was enough for the horse.

It reared in the traces with a scream, Malfore jerking his attention to it as he tried to pull the horse back down. It didn’t listen, Malfore dropping all attempts at controlling it as it bucked. He leaned off to the side of the seat, the blanket sliding off his lap and down to tangle into the horse’s legs.

That frightened it more, the horse throwing up its head and giving up all attempts to escape the traces for flight.

The horse bolted forward, the jerk of it enough to send Malfore tumbling to the ground. He was so surprised he didn’t think to reach out for the buggy until it was long gone.

“Wait!” Malfore reached out for the circle of light that was rapidly disappearing, his heart pounding fast in his chest. The horse didn’t listen, Malfore watching helplessly as the horse and buggy careened around a turn and was lost.

He lay sprawled in the snowbank for a moment, staring into the dark until he began to shiver. Malfore yelped and scrambled to his feet, frantically brushing the snow off of himself before stumbling back to the road. Even then, the snow was deep enough to rise to midcalf, Malfore shuffling through it for a few steps before coming to a stop.

He huffed out a breath, watching the puff of it in the darkness before staring down the road. He was at least an hour from the village, and that was in the buggy. Malfore had no idea how long it would take him on foot, in the dark, in the cold.

With those _things_ by the road.

Malfore shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself as he looked around. He spotted a flash of red in the snow, bending over to pick up the blanket that had been left behind. He gave it a delusory shake before wrapping it around himself. It didn’t do much to keep out the biting cold, but it was something. Malfore tugged it more tightly into place, taking a shuddering breath.

His options were limited. He could either trudge all the way back to the village on foot, which was too far and would probably take him most of the night. Worse still, there were the wailing things that his gut told him to stay far away from.

On the other hand, he could return to Bertilak de Hautdesert’s estate, a far shorter distance with a better reward. He would be warm there, and safe. Of course, he couldn’t tell them what really happened, because it was beyond all logic. But wolves startling his horse would be true enough. Everything else could be laughed off as something barely seen in the dark. All he would have to do is swallow his pride and walk back.

Malfore frowned, staring down the road. There were the delays to his plans to consider, and the ever-present threat of a surprise visit. Of course, there were legitimate reasons for him to be out of the village. Then again, legitimate reasons hadn’t seemed to matter that he’d heard of. It was all just a frenzy of shuffling for power and favor, which was disgusting. After all, he had been appointed through the usual routes of family and carefully placed influence that had sustained the system for years without a problem. He didn’t seen why exception would be taken to it now.

He shook his head, taking a shuffling step forward and then stopping again. Reaching the village was a forgone conclusion at this point, and he’d better be smart about this. After all, there were wolves, which would have to be taken care of. There was no one better to talk about that than Bertilak de Hautdesert. He had the experience and knowledge of the area. The wolves would certainly need to be killed before they started preying on the sheep around the village. They wouldn’t be so close if they weren’t starving, or so the villagers would say.

Malfore turned on his heel, intending to start the trudge back to the manor house when the distant sound of a horn caught his attention.

For a moment, he thought it was Bertilak de Hautdesert, but he pushed that thought away. No matter how much the man liked his hunting, to do so at night made no sense, not while he had guests. Nor had he mentioned it when Malfore had left. It had to be something else that involved a hunting horn, although he could think of no clear reason.

He frowned in the direction that the sound had come from, his confusion growing the longer the sound went on. It echoed strangely among the trees and snow, Malfore finding himself thinking about all the old stories that the villagers told, the ones the scoffed at. There was nothing like that in the dark, there was only what Lord Maotelus allowed. Malfore found himself clutching his pendant more tightly even still.

The horn’s rhythm changed, Malfore hurrying forward at the sound. No matter what it was, he didn’t want to be nearby for it. The wolves and strange things in the shadows were more than enough. He shuddered at the memory of them, pushing himself faster. He didn’t know what they were, just that he’d had enough of them when they’d passed by.

The horn faded into the night, Malfore almost tempted to sigh in relief, but he needed his breath for breaking through the snow. The ruts left by the buggy weren’t big enough for him to walk completely in, but it was a bit of a break, and he would take it. He was already shivering badly, and it was bound to get worse the longer he was out in the forest.

Malfore bent forward, completely focused on his task. It was easier that way, to clear his mind of all thoughts but moving forward. That way he wouldn’t look around him to find evil in the shadows, or linger too long on how he was not dressed quite right for this weather. Those were complaints that he could fully form later, and something that he would definitely be addressing. Maybe there was a way to put it in his sermon, a lecture on duty to the whole. That or the foolishness of believing in the strange things that moved through the night. They were more knowledgeable and protected by strong walls. There was nothing to fear.

A shout caught his attention, Malfore looking up. He expected to see Bertilak de Hautdesert, one of his guests, or one of his servants, but the road was clear.

Malfore blinked in confusion, waiting for someone to make themselves known. Then the shout came again, this time from right behind him.

He spun around, catching what looked like the shadow of a horse and rider.

Malfore gasped, dropping the blanket from around his shoulders. He stumbled back, stopping at another shout and shadow. The horse and rider darted around him like he wasn’t there, but Malfore was sure that they weren’t there either, just the phantom shout and hoofbeats.

The two of them were just the start, the woods soon filling with the sound of wild shouts and the sound of galloping horses.

He turned to face them, half expecting the shadows, not the flesh and blood horses and riders that were leaping from the snow bank and onto the road. Most of them took the jump easily, ignoring him to urge their horses into the woods, or immediately down the road on his other side. There were still a few that passed too close, Malfore sure that he could reach out and touch their horses as they galloped by, but he didn’t dare

If he touched them and the horses would solid, he would have to admit to what this was, and he didn’t want to do that.

Besides, reaching out would mean letting go of the one thing that was protecting him, and he was not about to let go of him amulet.

Malfore turned away from the horse nearest to him, intending to walk forward and leave the hallucination behind him. It was obviously brought on by his fright from before and the cold.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, only to jerk to a stop as he saw the black horse looming above him.

Malfore screamed and fell backwards as the horse reared above him. He grunted as he hit the snow, staring at the monstrous black creature as it came back down. It tossed its head and sidled, giving Malfore a view of the rider on its back.

The sight of the person made his blood freeze in his veins, the night seeming all the colder under the steady, green stare.

The rider was covered head to toe in an old style, white cloak, Malfore only belatedly realizing that the black markings on it were the traditional Shepherd ones. He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say to that, or that he could get his voice to work at all. He _should_ had said something about the man’s right to wear that design, because it was meant for Shepherds alone. But Malfore wasn’t sure how this rider would take it, especially considering how late it was and how cold it was around the rider. Malfore felt the temperature drop further the longer the rider looked at him.

There was something unnerving in the stare, something that saw into the depths of him. Malfore curled in on himself, trying to hide whatever the rider saw there.

Whatever they saw, it was apparently enough to pass over with nothing more than a glance because they calmed their horse with a hand to its neck. Then they were turning the horse away and lunging into a gallop to follow the rest.

Malfore turned to watch, the cold starting to move away like the rider was dragging it with him. As soon as it left, Malfore felt like he could breathe again, the cold air making his throat burn.

He got to his feet slowly, his shock holding him still for a moment. Then the terror flooded back, jerking him into motion.

He had taken three running steps before he realized what he was doing, but he didn’t bother to stop himself. It was the right direction, back to the manor house, to where there was a fire, living humans, and safety.

* * *

Sorey groaned and rolled away from the beam of light coming in through the window. He curled towards where Mikleo was sprawled on his side of the bed, seeking out the warmth that was returning to him now that the night was over. It wasn’t what it would be once the week was over, but it was something more like the life they pretended at. He tugged Mikleo closer, hearing him mutter something, but he didn’t try to move away. If anything, he settled back, perfectly content to lay in Sorey’s arms.

It was heaven but, if there was light coming in the window, then he couldn’t indulge in it for long. There were his duties as a warder to take care of, mostly hard work that didn’t sound too appealing after a long night of riding after hellions, especially when it would be followed by more of the same. Sorey was sure that the exhaustion would ebb as soon as the sun started to set, but now the thought of being awake was unbearable.

Or maybe he had gotten used to the patterns he affected to look human.

His thoughts were interrupted as Mikleo rolled over, patting at his head before settling again. Sorey chuckled, nudging against Mikleo’s upper arm for a moment.

He could afford to sleep for another hour or so. Malfore was out, after all. There had been no sign of the Shepherd at his house by the church, but he had been going out to Bertilak de Hautdesert’s estate. The man had talked about coming back, but logic would have kept him there.

Except that didn’t seem right. There was something else in there, missing in the rush of the hunt and the coming of the dawn. Sorey frowned, trying to string his errant thoughts together without success.

Sorey was on the edge of giving up and letting himself drift back to sleep when there was a pounding at his door. He startled up, Mikleo startling as well, to the point where he almost rolled out of the bed.

Sorey reached out to steady him with a hand around his waist. “Hello?”

He expected an answer back, not for the door to be shoved open.

The sound was enough to get Mikleo to roll out of his hold adn onto the floor. Sorey scooted close to the edge, dropping his hand to rest on Mikleo’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Mikleo made a noncommittal sound, getting to his feet as Malfore came rushing into the room.

“Sorey!” He paused by the door, blinking at him for a moment. “Did you see them?”

“What?”

“The riders, the wolves, the…” Malfore stumbled to a stop, his mouth opening and closing.

Sorey watched him for a long moment before he glanced over to where Mikleo was standing.

Mikleo on his part looked shocked, which wasn’t surprising. Malfore didn’t see everything in the world, despite his many opinions on them. Sorey had long since adjusted to it and let it roll over him. And yet, for the first time since he had been introduced to the Shepherd, Malfore had seen Mikleo even if for a brief moment.

The Shepherd startled backwards, catching himself on the doorframe. Sorey jerking to his feet and reaching out. He wasn’t sure what he would do, although he expected Malfore to skitter away. It seemed more likely, especially when Malfore looked at him and must have seen _something_ because he recoiled further with a gasp. That was enough to make Sorey freeze, because he didn’t know what people saw when they saw him. Really saw him.

Malfore squeaked, the sound pitching up into something that could have become a scream, but the moment passed just as quickly as it had come.

Malfore stared at him for a moment, confusion covering up the fear, and pushing it down. He cleared his throat, straightening up like nothing had happened. And, probably to him, it hadn’t. It had been nothing more than a flash, and one that had been buried again. Sorey was sure that it would come back in the dark again, especially since he had caught glimpses of the world entire. But it was easier to let those ideas slide away when the sun was bright and high.

The man blinked rapidly for a moment before clearing his throat and pulling his coat to rights. Sorey took a step back, letting him have the moment.

It passed quickly, Malfore tugging the lapels of his coat. For a moment, it looked like he was going to continue the conversation, but then Malfore shook his head. “I talked to Bertilak de Hautdesert, he agreed that something needed to be done about the wolf problem. He’ll be meeting with you within the week.”

There was nothing to do but to nod, Sorey relaxing the longer that Malfore adjusted himself back. The man glanced around before sighing. “I assumed you would be up earlier. I found myself delayed returning.”

“There were things that needed my attention last night.”

“You would know that.” The last came from Mikleo, Sorey not having to turn around to know that he was annoyed at being startled out of bed.

“Ah, well, as long as everything gets done.” Malfore paused to give Sorey a long look before turning his attention back to the rest of the house, seeming to be trying to figure out why he was there. He awkwardly patted the doorframe before nodding to himself. “Right then.”

Malfore lingered for a moment before turning on his heel and striding out of the house. Sorey watched him go, but didn’t bother to move from where he was standing. Mikleo was the one to move over to the window, moving the curtain aside for a moment, shaking his head. “That was a waste.”

“It was bound to happen sometime.”

Mikleo made a noncommittal noise, dropping the curtain. He turned so he was leaning his shoulder against the wall, still looking half asleep. “I thought it would stick, or at least make an impression.”

Sorey raised a shoulder in a shrug. “He’s very secure in his world view.”

Mikleo stared at him for a moment before grunting and shuffling back to bed. “You deal with him.”

“I always do.” Sorey stepped to the side, right into Mikleo’s path. Mikleo kept walking towards him, stumbling into him before coming to a stop. Mikleo sighed, leaning heavily against him.

“Why?”

Sorey raised the shoulder that Mikleo wasn’t leaning against in a shrug. “Because he is fleeting. And I like this.” Sorey inclined his head to mean the rest of the house, although he doubted that Mikleo was paying attention. From the way that he was leaning, it felt like he was about to drift off to sleep again.

He smiled and stroked a hand down Mikleo’s back, earning himself a happy hum in return. Sorey was tempted just to stand and hold him, but the restlessness was back, the frantic energy that would carry him through the darkest and longest nights of the year before it would ebb away. Then he and Mikleo might be able to go back to pretending, just working around the village and churchyard until the next year. And maybe a few midnight rides, just the two of them.

Sorey pressed a kiss against Mikleo’s temple, holding him close for a moment more before letting him go. He wasn’t surprised when Mikleo shuffled back into bed, immediately wrapping himself in the myriad of blankets there. The fact that he couldn’t really see more than the top of Mikleo’s head didn’t stop him from smiling fondly. He swayed forward, tempted to cross the room and kiss him, but he was sure that he would get shoved away with a groan. Mikleo had clearly made his decision, and he was determined to keep sleeping. Any disturbances wouldn’t be welcome.

He sighed, stepping over to the partially open wardrobe and pulling his cloak from where he had thrown it over the door the night before. Sorey shook it out, the white and black cloak turning into his overcoat. He brushed the stray horse hair off of it, giving up after a moment. There were six more nights to ride, and more hair would come from it, but it was clean enough. Besides, the sun was up and Malfore was waiting impatiently.

He didn’t have to play by the rules he set for himself. He could turn and slink back into the shadows like most of the others, or set himself up in some far corner of the country with none the wiser and be left to his own devices until the next time he needed to ride out.

But he liked this, being close to people. And Mikleo liked it too, and for Mikleo he was willing to do anything.

Sorey shrugged on his coat, reaching for his scarf before stopping himself. He glanced over his shoulder where Mikleo was a lump under all of the blankets. He smiled fondly before dropping his hand away. He would leave it for Mikleo when he finally decided to come looking for him. Sorey smiled to himself, giving Mikleo one last look before he turned to wall for the front door, the shadows of the room sweeping out after him.

END


End file.
